Chanson Douce by Leïla Slimani

“Je serai punie pour ça, s'entend elle penser. Je serai punie de ne pas savoir aimer.”

This is a book that will stay with long after you have put it down (or closed the app, as the case may be!). This line above, the fact that she holds herself responsible for not knowing how to love, as if it were something that she have helped, as if the circumstances of her life had nothing to do with it; this somehow evoked tears for me, more than any other line in the book.

Chanson Douce, by Leïla Slimani, a French writer of Moroccan origin, is sad and revelatory. Awarded the Prix Goncourt for 2016, the book is full of writing that flows like poetry, washing over each wound the protagonist, Louise the 'perfect'nanny, encounters.

Elle l’habite comme l’air entêtant d’une chanson en anglais, lui qui n’y comprend rien et qui, malgré les années, continue d’écorcher ses refrains préférés. 

Somehow, the lines above sound apt for the reader herself, who doesn't quite comprehend Louise, and yet, the character will haunt her for days to come. The nanny is the song in an alien tongue, that we understand very little of and yet the one we continually pore over, wondering, why ? how ? what if ?

I finished the book over two days and then spent half a night trying to analyse the nanny's character. The author doesn't provide a straightforward response, making it messy, as life is wont to be. The writing is brilliant, steeped in the apparent mundane. Slimani's keen observation of the world around her is truly a treat to read. I found myself re-reading and annotating quite frequently, the book is such a gratifying read.

There's poetry, « Mélancolie délirante ». Louise avait trouvé ça beau et dans sa tristesse s’était subitement introduite une touche de poésie, une évasion. Elle l’a noté, de son écriture étrange, faite de majuscules tordues et appuyées. 

there's irony, On lui a toujours dit que les enfants n’étaient qu’un bonheur éphémère, une vision furtive, une impatience. Une éternelle métamorphose. Des visages ronds qui s’imprègnent de gravité sans qu’on s’en soit rendu compte. Alors toutes les fois qu’elle en a l’occasion, c’est derrière l’écran de son iPhone qu’elle regarde ses enfants qui sont, pour elle, le plus beau paysage du monde. 

and a lot of pathos, all delivered in a matter-of-fact way, making the book unique.

Tu vois, tout se retourne et tout s’inverse. Son enfance et ma vieillesse. Ma jeunesse et sa vie d’homme. Le destin est vicieux comme un reptile, il s’arrange toujours pour nous pousser du mauvais côté de la rampe.

After thinking a lot about Louise, I finally cracked (or so I think!) the why why she killed the children, but this isn't a thriller in its truest sense. It's chaotic, it's human and the lines wrap themselves around you, like a cocoon : disturbing and comforting at the same time.

The book raises a lot of pertinent questions on motherhood, the choice of maternity, and parenting. But the most important one is of course, how society treats its poor and how notions of class play into the smallest of interactions. Finally, it's also a commentary on how mental health is downplayed and the ramifications thereof. It's definitely highly nuanced, forcing you to put a mirror to your own intentions, words and acts.

Stars : ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Highly recommend ! Not for people with a weak heart or new mothers / expectant mothers.

P.S :

1. This article was written WITHOUT the help of AI (If it's not best practice for writers to acknowledge the use of AI, might be better to highlight it's non-utilisation, no ? ;) )

2. I have left a few lines untranslated from French to retain the flavour, but nothing a simple Google Translate can't fix, am I right ?

3. The translated version of the book is available on Amazon as 'Lullaby' or 'The Perfect Nanny'. Not providing the link, it's more fun to browse through amazon and buy a few more unnecessary things while you're it ! #capitalismforthewin